


To the Waters and the Wild

by odyssxus



Category: Celtic Mythology, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, M/M, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: When Yusuf was ten years old his baba died.His mother, devastated, had not been able to bear to stay in Tunis after his passing. But instead of moving back to her hometown of The Hague, she had moved them over 2000 miles away to the small town of Portree, on the Isle of Skye.Yusuf had hated it at first - but then he met a strange boy named Nicky while exploring his new home, a boy with eyes the colour of Skye’s rolling hills and turbulent seas, and a smile that made Yusuf feel like he could fly.Eighteen years later, he met Nicky again.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 108
Kudos: 420
Collections: The Old Guard Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greywolfheir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywolfheir/gifts).



> For **greywolfheirs!** I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :) 
> 
> Thank you so much to Claz and bjtremike for being amazing sensitivity readers, and to Popi for her amazing beta job. You're all amazing, and I couldn't have done this without you!
> 
> **_NOW WITH ART BY THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING ZAMBETTA_ **   
>  [ART ON TUMBLR](https://zambomarti.tumblr.com/post/640143400766717952/arts-inspired-by-socvrates-s-beautiful)   
>  [HER AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linx91/profile)

When Yusuf was ten years old his  _ baba _ died. 

His mother, devastated, could not bear to stay in Tunis after his passing. His parents had had one of the most loving relationships there could be, in Yusuf’s opinion. And while he understood why she would not want to stay in Tunis, where everything reminded her of his  _ baba _ , he had expected her to move them back to her hometown of The Hague, perhaps to move in with his Dutch grandparents until they could get back on their feet. 

But instead she had moved them to Portree, on the Isle of Skye. A town with a population of about 4500.

Yusuf had hated it at first.

It was cold and wet, and while the people were nice, pretty much no one looked like him. There wasn’t even a Mosque! And while Yusuf wasn’t particularly religious at ten, that loss hurt him. His mother had been wonderful. She was not religious herself, but had understood religion was something he and his  _ baba _ had shared, so she'd made a huge effort to set up a Prayer Room for him in their new home.

He used it sometimes, but had found a new solace of sorts.

He made friends at school and joined a football team. He also took piano lessons from an older neighbour, a kindly old woman who always made him overly sweet tea and fed him shortbread. He was still trying to convince his mother to learn how to make it as well.

But his biggest solace was the sea.

He’d always loved the water. He’d spent hours exploring the port, watching the boats and people. It was different here but still the same in many ways. So he’d taken to spending hours exploring, off in his own little world.

“I’ll see you later  _ mam _ !” he shouted, shoving his feet into his wellies.

She grinned at him from where she was looking over some files. She’d trained as a vet at the Royal Veterinary College in London, and while she’d practised in Tunis, she was incredibly busy here.

“Where are you off to now,  _ schatje _ ?” 

“I’m going to do part of the Scorrybreac Trail again,” he said, stuffing some of Mrs. MacKay’s shortbread into his pocket.

His mother shook her head at him in amusement. “We’ll have to do it again together on the weekend,” she said.

He nodded, accepting her kiss, and darted out the door, a slight spring in his step. Soon enough he was out of town and exploring the beautiful scenery, ignoring the slight drizzle. It was almost always raining, and while he didn’t like it, he’d learned to accept it.

He waved at several people he knew while walking to the trail, splashing in puddles as he went. Eventually he got to the path, and walked quickly to his favourite part, where he could explore the tide pools.

He carefully picked his way down to the ocean, before tripping when his toe hit a rock.

He swore under his breath, righting himself awkwardly. He’d taken swimming lessons with school and was good at it, but it was cold out and the water from the Atlantic was perpetually freezing. His mother would worry if he came home soaking wet, and then she would make him stop exploring. And he  _ loved _ exploring. His new home was completely different to his old one in Tunis, but by the sea he felt at peace. The water may be different - far more wild than the seas at home - but he had always loved the ocean.

His mother was happy here as well, he knew. She’d made friends at the clinic she worked at, joined a book club, and was learning how to make scones and proper Scottish tea. 

It was strange, but beginning to grow on him. He liked to think his  _ baba _ would have liked it as well, no matter how different it was to Tunis. 

“Are you alright?” 

Yusuf turned, startled, and fell on his behind. He hadn’t realised anyone else was around.

There was another boy about two metres away from him, one he had never seen before. And Yusuf knew all the other children who lived near him.

“I…” he swallowed, still feeling startled. “I’m fine, thank you.” There was a beat of awkward silence, before Yusuf spoke again. “Who are you?”

The other boy smiled, his almost too bright eyes shining despite the dim light. “My name’s Nicky,” he said.

“I’m Yusuf,” Yusuf said automatically, before frowning. The other boy was wearing what looked like a sleek fur coat and nothing else, his feet bare in the freezing water. He stood slowly, feeling even more confused. “Aren’t you cold?” 

Nicky shrugged, tilting his head to the side. He was the oddest person Yusuf had ever seen, with long wet hair and impossibly pale skin.

“No, it’s not that cold here,” he answered. He had a thick accent, one similar yet different to the people of Portree. Yusuf assumed it was what people on the other islands sounded like. Maybe.

“If you say so,” Yusuf said, not really completely convinced. “How old are you?”

Nicky grinned. “I’m seven,” he replied. “How old are you?"

“Ten,” Yusuf answered. “But I turn eleven in a month.”

Nicky’s smile widened. “I don’t turn eight for a while, but happy birthday!”

Yusuf grinned as well, softening to this strange boy. “Thanks!”

Nicky blushed, pale cheeks turning bright red. “Wanna see something cool?”

Yusuf nodded eagerly, all doubts now gone. Nicky was only seven after all, so it’s not like he could be bad. He followed the younger boy further to the ocean, picking his way carefully around the rocks. Nicky moved much more quickly, bare feet sure on the slippery surface. Yusuf wondered again how he wasn’t frozen. He himself was wearing a hat, wellies, and a warm coat, and was still beginning to shiver. It didn’t help that he’d fallen and his trousers were a bit damp.

“It’s just here!” Nicky called, a wide smile on his face. He crouched down, gesturing over his shoulder for Yusuf to follow him. His strange coat slipped down, baring a pale shoulder. Yusuf moved to fix it automatically.

Nicky, in a move that surprised him, jerked back with a sound of alarm, looking suddenly terrified.

“Sorry!” Yusuf said immediately, snatching his hand back. “I just… I didn’t want you to get cold.”

Nicky gave him a shaky smile, fixing his coat himself. “Thank you,” he said softly, an strange lilt to his voice.

Yusuf managed to smile back, though he was in truth still confused about the other boy’s odd behaviour. “You’re welcome,” he responded, because his parents had taught him to be polite.

Nicky just pulled his coat closer and gestured for Yusuf to follow him.

Yusuf, feeling slightly nervous at how far from the path they were, glanced back, wondering if he should stop following Nicky. Nicky turned, as though sensing his thoughts, and gave him a small barely there smile. “It’s just here, I promise,” he called.

Yusuf shrugged mentally. He was curious now, and the path was easy to get back to. “Coming!”

He trudged through some shallow rock pools, looking carefully for interesting rocks. He was building a collection, and had grown to love sketching them. He wasn’t very good, not yet, but his  _ mam _ had said she would get him art lessons. Mrs. Budge was good at art, and Yusuf knew he’d enjoy learning from her. Even if she did prefer painting to sketching.

He stopped suddenly, eyes widening. “Woah…”

Nicky, who was crouched over with his hands in a tide pool, grinned up at him.

There were starfish everywhere. The normally dark rocks shone in multiple shades of yellow and orange, alighting the small cove in colour despite the dim sky.

Nicky stood. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Yusuf nodded. He’d seen some beautiful sites, both in Tunis, in the Netherlands, and on the Isle of Skye, but this was something else.

“Why… why are they all here?”

Nicky stepped out of the water, skipping over to stand by his side. His coat had slipped off his shoulder again, but this time Yusuf resisted the urge to fix it. He liked Nicky and didn’t want to scare him off.

“Not sure,” the other boy said. “But they’re pretty.”

Yusuf nodded, bending down to touch one absently. They looked awfully soft, especially with how they were swaying underwater.

“No!” Nicky yelped, grabbing his arm. “They can die if you touch them!”

Yusuf blinked, swallowing down some strange emotion. Despite having known Nicky for less than an hour, he felt oddly ashamed at having disappointed him.

“Oh,” he said, blushing. “Sorry.”

Nicky let go of his arm, making Yusuf feel oddly bereft at the loss.

“It’s okay!” Nicky said immediately, his bright eyes changing colour as he looked up. Yusuf still couldn’t decide what they looked like - sometimes they reminded him of the blue skies over Tunis, sometimes the rolling green hills of the Isle, and sometimes they were a different colour entirely. Yusuf was itching to go home and look through the pencils his mother had bought him to find something similar. 

“You didn’t know,” Nicky continued kindly. “Now you do!” 

Yusuf nodded, feeling slightly happier now. He didn’t want to hurt the starfish after all. He sat back on his haunches, studying a tide pool intently. One of the starfish moved, as though waving at him. He grinned. 

“Thanks for showing me,” he said. 

Nicky blushed again. “You’re welcome.” 

Yusuf studied the younger boy for a long moment. “How come I haven’t seen you before?” he asked curiously. He knew all the children in Portree after all, or at least he thought he did. There were other villages and towns on the Isle though, so maybe Nicky was from one of them? But then how did he get here? 

Nicky’s smile dropped from his face, and he looked back down to the tidepool. A small fish darted between his feet. “I just wanted to explore a bit,” he said softly. He reached into the clear water, and the fish immediately swam around his fingers. 

Yusuf wanted to try as well, as he’d never seen a fish that brave before. But the water was awfully cold, and he didn’t want to catch a chill. His  _ mam _ wouldn’t let him explore again if he came back sick. He settled for watching instead. Maybe Nicky could teach him how to play with fish without scaring them in the summer when it was warmer? 

The fish darted away, and Nicky lifted his hand again.

“I like exploring too,” Yusuf confided. “I like to pretend I’m the only person on the island, and that I’ll find treasure!” 

Nicky grinned. “I like to pretend I’m on an adventure!” he said. 

Yusuf nodded eagerly. “Should we pretend together?” 

Nicky’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” He looked up at the cloudy sky for reason’s Yusuf couldn’t comprehend. “I still have time to play before going home.” 

“Me too!” He glanced down to his watch. His mother happily let him explore, but only if he showed her he was responsible enough to be back on time. So far Yusuf hadn’t let her down. “I have… another hour?” He did some quick mental math, trying to decide how long it would take him to get home. He could always run back if he played with Nicky for too long. 

Nicky grabbed his hand. “Let’s go explore some more!” 

Yusuf grinned, lacing their fingers together. They ran off, stomping through puddles and over rocks, laughing wildly. They found sticks and pretended to be dueling pirates, then abandoned those and looked for more creatures in rock pools, shrieking with laughter as they tried to avoid the waves. When it started to rain they caught the freshwater on their tongues, making faces at one another. Nicky sang happily in a language Yusuf did not know, a haunting yet somehow joyful tune. In turn Yusuf tried to teach him a song his  _ baba _ had sung to him. And for the first time since his  _ baba’s  _ death he didn’t want to immediately burst into tears when singing it. 

Nicky’s accent didn’t suit Arabic, as his own did not suit the language Nicky was using, but that was okay. They could just keep teaching one another! 

Time passed far too quickly and eventually Yusuf turned to Nicky with a frown. “I have to go back home now,” he informed the other boy. “My  _ mam _ will worry about me otherwise.”

Nicky nodded, though Yusuf thought he looked rather sad. “I should go too,” he said, looking out to sea. The waters were calm enough, though truthfully they were never truly quiet here. Yusuf had found it frightening at first, especially when he’d witnessed his first storm, but now he found the sound of the crashing waves to be a comfort. 

“See you again soon?” Yusuf asked, slightly antsy now that he knew he had to be home. 

Nicky gave him a strange look. “Maybe,” he said softly, then; “I hope so.” 

Yusuf grinned, darting forwards to give the shorter boy a hug. Nicky let out a soft yelp, startled, before hugging back. 

“Thank you,” he said, rolling accent somehow more pronounced on those two words. 

Yusuf nodded, pulling away. “See you soon!” he said, darting off. He could make it home in time, but he would have to run the entire way. That was alright, it was worth it because he’d had such a good time with Nicky. 

Nicky laughed slightly. “Bye Yusuf!” 

Yusuf smiled again, before darting away, clambering over rocks and back to the path. He turned around to wave to his new friend once he had his footing, but there was no one there. 

He frowned, taking a step back towards the rocky surf, scanning his surroundings carefully. 

Nicky was gone. 

He stayed still for a long moment, confused, before making his way home, running with a child’s abandon over the path, through a field, and down the winding streets of Portree. 

When Yusuf got home he told his  _ mam _ about his strange new friend, confused and a little disconcerted, but she didn’t have much of an answer for him. She was neck deep in paperwork, and while she was supportive as usual, she did not pay as much attention as she normally did. She would listen if Yusuf pushed, he knew that, but he didn’t want to. One of the farmers had a sick pony, and that was more important than a new friend. He didn’t want to distract his  _ mam _ , not now. Nicky was his friend, but so was Paisley the Highland Pony. Right now, his  _ mam _ needed to focus on her. 

Yusuf went to his room, still feeling decidedly off, and sat down to draw. 

He still wasn’t very good, but he was determined. He drew late into the night (after briefly pretending to be asleep when his  _ mam _ came to check on him), discarding multiple sketches, before he was finally satisfied. 

It wasn’t perfect, but Mrs. Budge could help him get better, and then he could try again. He’d managed to get the shape of Nicky’s face: his fine bones and long hair, his bold nose and dark eyebrows. 

He hadn’t quite managed his eye colour, but that was okay. He could try again later. 

When his  _ mam _ found him the next morning he was sprawled out on his bed, clutching his finished picture, a small smile on his sleeping face. 

* * *

Yusuf, now known as Joe, made his way to his rental car outside of the Inverness Airport, happy to be back in Scotland. The people had welcomed him and his mother with open arms when he’d been a child, and while it was not the place of his birth, the Scottish Highlands were just as much his home as Tunis, or Eindhover where he’d gone to University at the Design Academy. He’d since moved to Amsterdam (and was considering a move to Paris or maybe London), but this was home. He felt as comfortable here as he did in Tunisia. He’d learned small bits of Scots Gaelic, taught his friends some Arabic, and while there had been some children who’d teased him for his darker complexion and lack of a living father, they had been far and few between and had always stopped quickly. His  _ mam _ being a respected vet helped, as did his own personality. 

After a bit of a bumpy start, he’d settled in happily, enjoying school, his art lessons, and his exploration of the Isles. When he was older he and his friends spent summer weekends camping, eventually making their way to the other Isles as well. He personally loved Raasay, Skye’s neighbour, but Skye would always be home. 

He’d recently finished a large commission and, after visiting his grandparents in Tunis, he’d made his way quickly to his home in Amsterdam to pick up some supplies before making his way to Scotland. 

He’d first become obsessed with art on the Isle, and it always inspired him. He had time off between jobs and wanted to work on his own painting, not something for someone else. His mother always ended up keeping his art, even if he himself didn’t like it. She was, and always had been, his number one supporter. He was sure his father would have been the same had he lived. 

He left the main motorway, stopping to buy some tea (he’d moved onto coffee by now, but tea was a comfort for him while in Scotland) and a sandwich from a small family run place, chatting happily with the owners. He did not have a particularly thick accent normally, but he had lived on a Scottish Island from the age of ten to when he moved away for university at eighteen, and the accent came back the moment he walked out of the airport. 

He drove the rest of the way on smaller roads, the window down and the radio off. Coming back here always gave him feelings of intense nostalgia, even more so than going back to Tunisia. There was just something about the Highlands that made him feel incredibly sentimental. Part of it was the people, but it was also the landscape itself, the rolling mountains, the beautiful lochs, the wild islands, and the untamed sea. 

Tunisia was home, and always would be. But so were the Highlands, and now, The Netherlands as well. It was a little strange, and it had taken him time to come to terms with his identity, but he was comfortable now at twenty-eight years old. 

He crossed over the bridge onto Skye, smiling softly to himself. He was glad to be home. 

The rest of the journey went too quickly for his liking. He wasn’t a fan of driving usually, but when he was winding along the coast, that changed. He kept the windows down, basking in the temperate air. It was summer on Skye, but welcomingly cool after his time in Tunis. He would never truly be used to such cool summers, but it did remind him of home, of summers spent with friends.

He turned off the main road and down the narrow path to his mother and stepfather's home, nestled into a small nook off the busiest area of town. It was close enough to walk everywhere, but also out of the way and quiet, and close to several different hiking paths. Even now, eighteen years after first moving to Skye, he frequented the Scorrybreac Trail. 

Walking down this path always reminded him of Nicky, and though he no longer thought the other boy had been real, he remembered him vividly. Remembered his eyes, and the otherworldliness of his smile. He’d been sure for months that Nicky had been a real person. He’d asked the children at his school about him, as well as the adults he interacted with. But no one had any idea who he could be talking about. 

Eventually Joe had decided he’d been dreaming. 

There was no way he’d actually met someone like Nicky after all. 

He shook himself, feeling a sudden surge of melancholy, before entering his childhood home and setting his bags in his room. Bibi, his  _ mam’s _ old and grumpy cat, hissed at him. He fought the urge to hiss back. He adored animals, he couldn’t not with a vet as a mother, but Bibi was a demon in cat form. 

He made himself another cup of tea, helping himself to a scone and some clotted cream. His mother, while a wonderful woman, could not bake to save her life. She’d tried for years, but eventually Rauiri, his stepfather, had stopped her, taking over in the kitchen. Joe, who’d been suspicious of the strange Scottish man courting his mother, had instantly been won over by his shortbread. 

He stretched languidly, before deciding to head out for a quick hike. Rauiri tended to work late, and his mother likely was out at a farm somewhere. He had time before they returned home. 

He slipped on some short wellies before grabbing a baseball cap, jamming it over his curls before heading out the door. Bibi gave him a parting hiss. 

He walked aimlessly, feet automatically finding the path. He wandered down to the sea, breathing deeply. He could never get over how free he felt here. He didn’t worry about school, work, about his friends, relationships, anything. He was just at peace. 

He carefully picked his way down a narrow walkway, deviating from his usual route. He vaguely remembered seeing rock pools as a child, and perhaps starfish, and was feeling nostalgic. He paused once he reached the surf, frowning. This felt oddly familiar… He shook himself. He’d been on a plane and then driven nearly three hours. He obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Going from the bustle of Amsterdam to the stark silence of the Highlands could do that to a person. 

He wandered some more, hands shoved in his pockets. The strange feeling would not leave him, but for some reason it felt comforting. Like he was coming home, despite  _ already _ being home. He didn’t want the feeling to leave him. 

He tilted his head back, suddenly feeling teary, looking up to the gannet circling above. 

When he glanced down he saw movement out in the sea, a flash of silver and green. 

He squinted, trying to make out what it had been. It had seemed too small to be a whale, and while it could be a dolphin, they tended to travel in pods this time of year. This had seemed like a single animal. Perhaps a seal? 

Whatever it was, it didn’t breach the waves again and Joe gave up trying to spot it. 

He wandered some more, feeling decidedly odd, before settling himself on a rock, taking out his sketchbook. He had intended to draw the beautiful scenery, but instead found himself sketching a set of familiar eyes. They stared up at him from the page, vivid and warm despite the lack of colour and time spent adding detail. He closed the book, shoving it back in his pocket. No matter how much he told himself Nicky had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination, he could not get those eyes out of his head. 

He had no idea what his childhood friend (imaginary friend?) would look like now, but he’d spend years sketching him, years wondering. There was something about Nicky, about that day, that seemed like something out of a half remembered dream. Whenever he thought back he felt an odd yearning, yet oddly at peace. 

He smiled to himself, before glancing back out to the sea. It was as beautiful as ever. 

He sat watching for several more minutes, before getting to his feet. The tide would be coming in soon, and his mother and stepfather would likely be making dinner. He picked his way back to the main path, not bothering to look back. If he had, he would have seen a figure standing in the shallow waters, a man with bright eyes and wet hair, wearing an odd fur coat. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Yusuf here was sure he was real,” his  _ mam _ chuckled, pouring them all some strong mint tea. She’d adapted well regardless of where she’d lived. She’d been raised in The Hague, went to university in London where she’d met his father Ibrahim, and eagerly moved with him to Tunis when they'd married. She’d picked up habits from each country she’d lived in, and while now she was a true Scot in many ways, she still loved the mint tea his father had made daily and had taken over the tradition. 

Joe smiled sheepishly, accepting a cup. “What can I say,” he said, “I have a vivid imagination.” 

His  _ mam _ snorted, handing Rauiri a cup next. The man took it with a smile of thanks, before turning his attention back to Joe. 

“Sounds like you met a selkie, son,” he said with his characteristic soft smile. Despite looking like a viking, with long greying red hair and a bushy beard, the man was one of the kindest people Joe had ever met. He’d supported Joe in everything he did, to the point of researching Mosques in Eindhoven when he’d expressed interest in moving there for university, and then doing the same when Joe had moved to Amsterdam. Joe hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he didn’t go regularly. He appreciated it all the same. 

“A what?” Joe asked, reaching for some shortbread. He’d already had four biscuits, and had no interest in slowing down. He would happily take the stomach-ache. 

“A selkie,” Rauiri repeated, looking faintly bemused. “How’ve you lived on Skye for so long without hearing about selkies?” he teased, handing Joe yet another biscuit to soften his words. Joe took it eagerly. He always left home at least two kg heavier from Rauiri’s shortbread alone. 

“Are they like the kelpies?” he asked curiously, mouth full.

Rauiri shrugged, giving his  _ mam _ a mournful look when she stopped him from eating another biscuit himself. 

“The myths say they’re seal people,” he informed Joe, gesturing wildly, as he tended to do when telling a story. “They can shed their fur, turning into a human. The old stories get rather dark, but legend says if you take a selkie’s coat they’re compelled to stay with you forever.” 

His  _ mam _ snorted. “That’s not creepy at all,” she said, blunt as always. 

Rauiri rolled his eyes. “It’s a myth, _m'eudail_ ,” he said teasingly, using one of his many pet names for her. She rolled her eyes again, but softened her words with a kiss. Joe threw a napkin at them, but truthfully did not mind. His mother still missed his father dearly, he knew, but Rauiri was wonderful, and Joe was incredibly happy they’d found love with each other. He could not ask for a better stepfather. 

“I must’ve heard the myth somewhere” Joe mused, “then had a particularly vivid dream.” 

His mother nodded, clearly agreeing with him. Rauiri, however, just smiled softly. 

“Perhaps,  _ a chuilein _ ,” he said, using yet another pet name. Joe didn’t think  Rauiri ever used his first name, and secretly loved it even if he teased the older man for being soft. 

They spoke for a while more, before cleaning up the small kitchen and moving into the family room to gather around the television, watching some old movie. Eventually Joe left, tired after a long day of travel. As he got ready for bed he looked out his bedroom window, glancing down the path that led to the Atlantic. 

He had an odd longing to go walk the coast again, but resisted the urge. He was exhausted and needed a good night's sleep. He would just go in the morning, complete with his easel and proper materials. 

Mind made up, he settled down to sleep, leaving his window open so the inviting sea air could drift into his room, along with the distant sound of crashing waves. 

In the morning he woke up early, but incredibly well rested. His  _ mam _ was already off to work at the veterinary clinic and Rauiri, a physical therapist, was gone as well. He helped himself to leftovers, before packing himself a lunch and leaving his parents a short note. He didn’t think he’d be gone the entire day, but he’d lost himself while painting before, especially here on Skye. 

He gathered some painting supplies as well as his easel, and trekked back down to the same spot as the day before, wanting to find that odd feeling of nostalgia again. It was cloudier today, and cooler, but the forecast hasn’t called for rain, so Joe felt safe enough setting up his supplies. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had to cover his work in a panic before due to rain. This was, after all, Scotland. Wet weather was a given. 

He painted aimlessly for a while, without any sort of plan. He didn’t mind. This was for his own enjoyment, not for a commission or anything important. If he hated it, all he lost was his own time and the supplies used. Which was annoying, but not the end of the world. He’d certainly discarded artwork before and would do so again. 

He stepped away to drink some tea, peering out over the waves and breathing deeply. There was a flash of movement in the distance again, but Joe didn’t bother watching it. It was summer after all, and the waters were full of life. This one at least looked more like a whale, unlike whatever had breached the surface the night before. He half suspected he’d imagined that, as he’d imagined Nicky all those years ago. 

He started painting again, adding more colour to the waves. 

Eventually he heard footsteps coming from the direction of the path, but Joe wasn’t worried. It was summer on Skye, and the island was teeming with tourists. Typically they didn’t leave the path, but there were always a few that did. They were always respectful if he was painting, sometimes making comments, but left him in peace for the most part. 

Sure enough an older couple came into view a moment later, talking among themselves. 

“Pardon me,” one of them called, “but did you perchance see a seal out there?” 

Joe looked up, smiling. “Can’t say that I did!” he responded. The man frowned slightly, though the woman smiled at him. 

“This one here swore he saw one,” she told Joe, her Cornish accent thick. “Dragged me down here to find it even when I told him his eyes were playing tricks on him!” 

The man scowled, but allowed the woman to pull him away, sending a word of thanks over his shoulder. Joe shook his head fondly, before returning to his painting, not noticing when someone else approached. 

“That’s amazing, Yusuf,” a new voice said. 

Joe smiled, not truly listening. He was fully absorbed in painting a thin line of white through a wave, adding to the seafoam. He was proud of this one, and was thinking about sending it to his family in Tunis as a gift. 

“Thank you,” he said automatically, before freezing. Why on earth had this stranger called him Yusuf? 

He looked up, only to see a man of about his height sitting on a nearby rock, chin cradled in his hand. 

Joe’s mouth dropped open in shock. 

He would recognise those eyes anywhere, as well as the oddly sleek fur coat. 

It was Nicky. 

He was older now, yes, but Joe knew without a shadow of a doubt it was him. He was wearing naught but his robelike coat, pale feet bare where they were curled underneath his thighs. His hair was long, just as it was when they’d been children, brushing against his shoulders. He was clean shaven, unlike Joe who’d had a beard since he was in his early 20’s, his cheekbones and jawline sharp. 

Joe had never done his eyes justice in his drawings. He realised that now. Had never captured them fully, and never would. There was something otherworldly about Nicky, something Joe would never be able to grasp in his art no matter how much he tried. 

“Ummm…” he said stupidly, mind completely blank. Over the last eighteen years he'd convinced himself that Nicky had been a figment of his imagination, something his grieving mind had come up with before he’d made friends and adjusted to life on the Isle. To see him here now, was making him doubt his own reality. 

“Are… are you real?” 

Nicky tilted his head to the side, looking bemused. “As far as I know,” he said, tone slightly teasing. 

Joe couldn't help but smile, feeling as comfortable with Nicky now as he had all those years ago. “I thought I’d imagined you,” he confided, his voice swallowed by the wind. 

Nicky somehow heard him. “No,” he said simply, the smile still on his face. Joe itched to draw him, but didn’t want to miss a moment of his company. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“Where did you go?” he finally dared to ask, curiosity overcoming him. “I looked for you, and asked after you as well. Do you live on Raasay?” He’d been to Raasay several times himself, but only once he was older, and hadn’t thought to look for Nicky. 

Nicky shook his head, sliding off the rock to approach Joe. “May I?” he asked, nodding towards the painting. 

Joe nodded easily, moving over so the other man could see what he was working on. Normally, he was leery of showing people his work before it was done, unless it was his mother or stepfather, but he harboured no such reservations with Nicky. 

Nicky ran a finger over the edge on the canvas. “I’m usually on the  _ Na h-Eileanan Siar _ ,” he finally offered. 

Joe took a moment to translate in his head. He was alright with Scots Gaelic, but he found it far more difficult than Arabic, or even Dutch. The Western Isles. He’d been several times, mainly to the Isles of Lewis and Harris, but knew some of the smaller islands were populated as well. It explained Nicky’s thicker accent as well, at least somewhat. Gaelic tended to be the main language. 

“This is outstanding, Yusuf,” Nicky finally said, his small smile widening to the grin Joe remembered. He thought for a moment about telling Nicky he went by Joe now (unless he was talking to his mother or grandparents) but thought better of it. He liked how his name sounded in Nicky’s mouth. 

“Thank you,” he said again, feeling oddly bashful. “The scenery is certainly inspiring.” 

Nicky glanced out to the sea, expression turning wistful. “It is,” he agreed, nothing but fondness in his voice. He tilted his head to the side, looking at the half finished painting again. “You’ve captured it perfectly.” 

Joe’s grin somehow widened. 

“Tell me what you’ve done since we last met?” Nicky asked, sitting down once more. Joe sat beside him after a moment’s hesitation, moving the easel off to the side so it wouldn’t obstruct the view. 

“If you tell me what you’ve been up to,” he said in return. “Want some shortbread?”

Nicky nodded eagerly, his eyes lighting up. Joe fought down a blush at the sight, confused at his own behaviour. He’d had relationships before, but had never felt this instant connection to anyone. It was the same as when they’d been children, when Joe had eagerly followed after Nicky without a care in the world. 

He began to talk about growing up in Portree, about his mother and eventual stepfather, and about his friends. He told an eagerly listening Nicky about his time at The Eindhoven Design Academy, about how he’d managed to make a career as an artist, and his move to Amsterdam. He told the other man about his small but bright flat overlooking a canal, and about the bakery he adored. 

Nicky, in turn, said less, but Joe hung on his every word. He listened as Nicky told him about his overprotective parents, about his cousins, and about his love for the Isles. He watched as Nicky’s expressions changed and his eyes gleamed in the afternoon sun. He guestered wildly, hands splayed. Eventually Joe made him laugh, and he knew it would be a sound he would treasure for the rest of his days. 

“When do you leave?” Nicky finally asked, resting his cheek on his bent knees. His coat had fallen slightly open, showing off a bony yet broad shoulder. Joe forced himself to focus on Nicky’s face. 

“I’m here for the weekend,” he told the other man. “I’m heading back to Amsterdam on Monday.” 

Nicky gave him a sad look, making Joe’s heart sink. 

“I can come back here tomorrow!” he offered quickly. “Or we could explore town, maybe get a drink?” 

Nicky stared at him for a long moment, looking surprised. “I…” he trailed off, before looking back out to the sea, a pensive look crossing his beautiful face. “You’d want to do that? With me?”

Joe finally dared to reach out and grab Nicky’s hand, holding it gently. Nicky’s skin was cool to the touch, and almost too smooth. Joe laced their fingers together. 

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I want to, Nicky,” he continued. “I want to hear more about you, about your likes and dislikes, about your mother and father, about your life here on the Isles. There’s nothing about you I don’t want to know.” 

Nicky’s blush had deepened as Joe spoke, and he finally turned to look at him again. “I need to leave,” he whispered. “But we could meet again tomorrow?” 

Joe laughed slightly, feeling as though he could fly. “I would love to,” he answered honestly. “I really would, Nicky. I could bring a picnic here? Or we could go to one of the smaller pubs, get a pint.” He wasn't much of a drinker himself, but if that’s what Nicky wanted to do he would gladly go to each and every pub on the Isle with a smile on his face. 

Nicky looked over at him, eyes brighter than the sky. “A picnic would be wonderful,” he replied. 

Joe nodded, daring to tighten his grip on Nicky's hand. Nicky squeezed right back, looking down at their joined hands with a small smile. 

“I need to go,” he finally said softly. “But I’ll be back here tomorrow.” 

“I can't wait,” Joe said honestly. 

Nicky finally stood, coat hanging down around his bare legs, his hand still joined with Joe’s. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

Joe frowned, feeling confused and a little out of his depth. “What on earth for?” 

Nicky shook his head slightly, before leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Just… thank you. For being you.” 

Joe laughed slightly, still befuddled but unwilling to push Nicky further. He was looking spooked, and Joe wanted nothing more than to make him happy and comfortable. “You’re very welcome,” he finally said, keeping his tone consciously light. 

Nicky smiled once more, before letting go of his hand and walking off along the surf. Joe fought the urge to follow him. Now that he’d met Nicky for a second time, now that he knew he hadn’t been making things up as a child to fight his own loneliness and grief, he never wanted to let Nicky go again. 

But he would not act on those urges. He would see Nicky tomorrow. 

He stayed by the sea for several more hours, waving to more tourists as they passed, and working on his art. This one was going to be a masterpiece - he knew it. 

He kept it covered when he got home, not even showing his mother and stepfather. This one was for him, and him alone. 

The next day he went back to the same spot, not noticing Rauiri watching him with a fond smile, bringing with him a small bag of food and some whiskey. He didn’t know if Nicky drank, but this  _ was _ Scotland after all. It was a safe bet. 

Nicky was waiting for him, much to his relief. He’d half expected him not to be there. Not because he doubted Nicky, but because he doubted his own mind. 

Nicky met him with his characteristic half smile, eyes twinkling. He was still wearing naught but his coat, and while Joe didn’t believe in fairy tales, he was starting to think that there may be some truth to Rauiri’s stories. 

They spent hours together, talking and laughing, and exploring the coast just as they had done as children, walking hand in hand. Joe had never felt happier. Time seemed to stand still when he was with Nicky, yet also moved far too quickly. He may have only known the other man for a day, but he felt as though he’d known him forever. In a way he had. 

“I don’t suppose you have any interest in coming to Amsterdam,” he finally asked, only half joking. 

Nicky laughed softly, leaning into his side. Joe pulled him closer greedily, breathing in deeply, wanting to commit the other man’s scent to memory. He smelled of fresh air and salt, of the very sea itself. There was something incredibly otherworldly about him, and Joe never wanted to be without him again. He wanted nothing more than to see Nicky laugh, knowing he was the cause of it, to see him smile every day. He wanted to see each and everyone of his moods, the good and the bad, and wanted to grow old with him. 

It scared him, a little, how attached he was already, but he wasn’t going to fight it, nor was he going to push Nicky. If this weekend was all they had it would be enough for him. He just hoped Nicky also wanted more. 

“Maybe someday,” Nicky said slowly, sounding pensive. 

Joe fought back a swell of tears, surprised at his own reaction and at Nicky’s response. He still was not completely sure this entire weekend had not been a dream he did not want to wake up from. He was terrified he’d wake up back in this flat in Amsterdam with just the memory of Nicky’s smile, the fall of his hair, his bright green eyes. 

Joe dared to bring their joined hands to his lips, kissing Nicky’s knuckles gently. “Someday sounds good to me,” he said thickly. 

Nicky’s face spasmed slightly, before he ducked his head, looking down their bare feet. They were walking through the shallow waters, Joe’s shoes and socks abandoned on some nearby rocks. Nicky looked like a creature out of a story to Joe, and he was itching to sketch him like this, silhouetted against the setting sun, his hair turned a warm golden brown. 

“Someday then,” Nicky said, tears in his eyes. 

Joe cupped his cheeks in his hands, brushing away his tears with his thumbs. “I’ve never felt this connected to someone,” he admitted. “You’ve buried yourself into my very soul.” 

Nicky leaned forwards, resting their foreheads together. He was shorter than Joe, though not by much, and they fit perfectly together. “You speak so beautifully,” he whispered. 

Joe shook his head ever so slightly. “I speak the truth,” he insisted. “I want nothing more than to see you happy.” 

Nicky stepped back, looking mournful and joyful all at once. “I must go,” he said. “But I’ll see you again, I promise you, Yusuf.” 

Joe took a step towards him, tears falling down his cheeks. He didn’t even know why he was crying. He reached a hand forwards, palm up. Nicky took his hand easily. 

“I can’t come back tomorrow,” he told Joe, his voice thick. “But you’ll be back again, won’t you?” 

Joe nodded, wanting nothing more than to surge forwards and gather Nicky in his arms, never letting him go. 

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he promised. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He had several commissions coming up, as well as several openings. But he would make time for Nicky. And his mother and Rauiri were always happy to have him. “In a month?”

Nicky nodded, a single tear falling. “A month then,” he agreed. He took a step forward, resting their foreheads together again. Joe let his eyes fall shut, breathing in the same air as this wonderful man he’d waited his entire life for. 

“A month.” 

Then Nicky was gone, leaving Joe standing alone in the surf, tears pouring down his cheeks. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


He was useless once he returned to Amsterdam, little more than a robot. His friends commented on his odd behaviour, wondering what had happened. His mother too, was confused, as were his grandparents. 

Only Rauiri seemed to understand. 

_ “You met someone,” he’d said when he’d left for the airport. “This Nicky of yours, I'd wager.”  _

_ Joe hadn’t answered, hadn’t known what to say, but his stepfather just smiled.  _

_ “If it’s meant to be, it will happen,” he’d said, and left it at that.  _

Joe was choosing to believe him. He missed Nicky, someone he barely knew (and was still half convinced was not real), with a desperation that shocked him. 

He counted down the days until he went back to Skye, marking them on his calendar in black pen. His mother had been a little confused when he’d said he was coming back home again so soon, but didn’t press him. Joe knew he likely had Ruari to thank for that small miracle. 

The only thing that gave him solace was his art, specifically the painting he’d started the day he’d met Nicky again. It was, as he’d suspected, his best work yet. He’d added Nicky to the frame, his wonderful face tilted up to the sky, eyes clear and perfect. Looking at him on the canvas made him desperately joyful. A friend had commented on it, asking if he was going to sell it, but Joe had refused. This one was for him, and him alone. 

Eventually, he finished his last commission and his last show and packed a small carry-on bag to return back to the Highlands. He rented a car once more in Inverness, driving along the familiar route. It was rainy, but Joe didn’t mind. His heart was too light to give the weather a second thought. 

He let out a joyful laugh when he crossed over the bridge onto Skye, tears coming to his eyes. 

He drove straight home, but didn’t bother to go inside. Instead he left his bag and other belongings in the car, and immediately made his way down the Scorrybreac Trail, picking his way easily through the muddy path. It was raining now, but Joe didn’t care. 

He jogged the last several minutes, nearly slipping several times, before picking his way carefully down to the sea. The tide was out, leaving him plenty of room to walk. He carefully maneuvered around the tidepools, watching out for any small sea creatures automatically. Eventually, he reached the spot where he’d last seen Nicky and sat down on a rock, eyes slipping closed. He didn’t know why he’d come here so quickly. It was raining, cold, and getting dark. Nicky wouldn’t be here now. But he’d been unable to resist. 

He loved Nicky, he knew that. They may not know each other well, may have only met a grand total of three times, but he loved him. And, from what he could tell, Nicky felt the same. 

He took several slow breaths to centre himself, before standing again, stripping off his shoes and wet socks, rolling up his jeans as well. He left them in a heap, uncaring that they’d get soaked in the rain, and made his way to the water, wading in until it was up to the middle of his shins. Once he was there he breathed in and out, face tilted up to the sky to feel the rain. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Joe opened his eyes, a grin already on his face. “How could I not?” he asked. 

Nicky was dressed this time, wearing loose trousers rolled up to his knees and a plain long sleeved shirt that was likewise far too large for him. He was soaked, with tendrils of long hair clinging to his face and neck. In his arms he carried his coat. 

Joe surged forwards, cupping Nicky’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he declared. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

Nicky laughed, wild and free. “I love you too,” he said, eyes twinkling despite the dim light. “I have something for you.” 

Joe let go of his face, curious. “I don’t need anything but you,” he said honestly. 

Nicky blushed, looking suddenly nervous, before offering Joe his coat. Joe took it with careful hands, brushing over the incredibly soft fur. It was a sleek grey, with several other shades of black and white interspersed in the fine hairs. 

Joe swallowed, the truth fully hitting him. He had known, in a way, since childhood, that Nicky was not truly of this world. But seeing it, holding the evidence in his own hands, was a different matter entity. 

He pushed it back into Nicky’s arms, before pulling the selkie close, one hand going to the back of his neck while the other circled his slender waist. He shook his head, tears in his eyes at the show of trust. 

“Your coat is your own,” he said firmly, his voice low. “I love you desperately, but you are your own person, and I will never use it to force you to stay with me.” 

Nicky looked up at him, eyes shining. “I would trust you with it without fear,” he whispered. 

Joe let out a wet laugh. “Thank you, but you don’t need to. That you even would consider it is the biggest compliment anyone could ever give me.” 

He pulled Nicky closer again. “Can I kiss you?”

Nicky moved first, pressing their lips together with a wild laugh. They couldn’t kiss properly, not when they were smiling so much, so Joe broke away, allowing his tears to fall and pressing his cheek against Nicky’s. He pulled back after a moment.

“I love you, Yusuf,” Nicky said. “I think I have since I was a child.” 

Joe nodded. “I feel the same. Can I kiss you again?” 

Nicky nodded. “Whenever you like,  _ mo leannan _ .” 

Joe kissed him again, holding him close. He was home now. Wherever they ended up, and whatever happened next. 

When they broke apart again Nicky took his hand, leading him to shore, humming a song Joe barely recognised, but instantly loved. He stopped Nicky once they reached where he’d discarded his shoes, helping him into his coat.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he teased, though truthfully he didn’t know if Nicky could even fall ill. 

Nicky smiled indulgently at him, before sliding his coat off and draping it over Joe’s shoulder’s instead. 

“It suits you,” he said simply, before leading the way up to the path. 

Joe stopped him, cradling the beloved face in both of his hands. He kissed him again, because he could, before pulling away, sliding an arm around his shoulders to share his warmth. There were still many things they had to discuss, many things they had to figure out. But Joe wasn’t worried. Together he was sure they could face anything. 

They kissed one last time, gently and loving, before making their way down the Scorrybreac Trail to Portree, ready to start their life together. 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. ART

**_honestly everyone just go look at her art and shower her with compliments - she deserves it it's amazing!!! I have permission to share the links so PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT!!! She deserves all the reblogs to share how talented she is._**

**_NOW WITH ART BY THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING ZAMBETTA_ **

  
[ART ON TUMBLR](https://zambomarti.tumblr.com/post/640143400766717952/arts-inspired-by-socvrates-s-beautiful)

  
[HER AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linx91/profile)

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  mam - mom/mum (Dutch)  
> schatje - pet name, darling/dearest (Dutch)  
> m'eudail - My darling/my dear (Scots Gaelic)  
> a chuilein - My lad(die) (Scots Gaelic)
> 
> This may be one of my _favourite_ things I've ever written, so please let me know what you thought!! Selkie AU's can be weird, and I NORMALLY don't like them at all, but something about this imagery really got me. So thank you so much greywolfheirs for giving me the idea with your request for AU/First Kiss!! I saw mermaid in your request and went "no SELKIE"!
> 
> **Thank you so much for reading, and again, please let me know what you thought :)**


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